Girl Who Got Away
by nieseryjna
Summary: Diana and Neal go to an exhibition; what could go wrong?


**Title**: The Girl Who Got Away

**Characters**: Neal Caffrey, Diana Barrigan

**Pairings**: Gen

**Rating**: PG-13

**Word** **count**: ~ 3800

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything.

**Spoilers**: None

**Beta**: by fantastic mam711 from

**Summary**: Diana and Neal go to an exhibition; what could go wrong?

**A/N**: It started in my head as a fill for my bingo card field "Bodyguards," where I was prompted to write a piece about what happened to Charlie, and then it morphed into this. Title from Dido song "The Girl Who Got Away".

* * *

She woke up coughing, her lungs screaming for oxygen that seemed to not be coming. The air was full of smoke and ash. One after another the coughs caused pain to ripple through her body, from her head down to her left leg. It took almost a minute for her to finally catch her breath, clean the tears that started to fall when she couldn't do it at first, and for the smoke to clear a bit. There was debris everywhere, parts of frames, some chairs, and part of a desk that was pinning down her leg.

"Diana?!" The voice came from somewhere to her right, low and ragged. "Diana?!"

Moving slowly, she was able to move the desk off her leg—it was tender but seemed otherwise undamaged; still she must have been more hurt than she thought. On her first attempt to stand up, she hit her head slightly on something that was behind her; pain ripped through her head, causing dizziness and her vision to darken. She sat for a moment catching her breath again, checking out her head with her hand; there was a wound on the right-back side of her skull—it was slightly swollen, painful to the touch, and bleeding.

A low moan left her lips. "Ow..." It was as ragged as the voice that had called her earlier.

Someone had been calling her. How long ago?

She was confused. Where was she?

"Hello?" she called out, wheezing. The smoke was slowly clearing up a bit, but she mostly still saw only shadows; there was light somewhere but not enough to see clearly.

"Diana? Thank God, I was losing hope. Can you move? I need help; something is pinning me down." The voice was clearer now, but still had that ragged edge, and the man speaking was wheezing, just like her.

"Yes, I can move, slowly. Hold on, I'm coming." This time she first twisted on her right side and got on all fours before attempting to raise onto her legs again. It took slow movements and using a chair she had been sitting by as a prop, but she did it.

She muffled a gasp after putting weight on her left leg. "Shit." It hurt, a lot. Slowly, step by step, trying to put as little weight as possible on her left leg, she stumbled toward the voice.

"Neal?" she called, to know how much further she had to go.

"Diana?" Cough. "What…?" Cough.

She stepped on something soft. "Ow... Don't trample me; I need my hands." She recognized the mock hurt in the voice without any problem.

"Sorry, Neal." As she came closer she could also see that the consultant was under a pile of furniture. It looked like a chaise longue and some chairs.

"Hold on; there's some stuff to be removed." Her voice decided to fail and she wheezed and coughed, trying to hold her own on one leg. Unsuccessfully. She collapsed, thankfully hitting the floor with her ass.

"Hey, hey, I'm not going anywhere; take your time." Neal's hand grabbed her ankle when she tried to get up right away, causing another wave of dizziness and pain in her head.

She could see his face, dirt and ash covering it fully, leaving the eyes to look unnaturally big. Big and full of emotion. Till now she hadn't allowed the fear to get to her, pain and confusion masking other feelings. Caffrey might be a con man, but right now his eyes lingered on her face with worry and fear. She grabbed his hand, still sitting on her ankle, and squeezed it.

"What happened?" she asked, her hands now moving up towards the pile; from this perspective she could see and move part of the debris easily.

"I'm not sure; one moment ..." Cough. "... one moment we were joking about the possibility of the theft …" Neal's voice went into wheezing and raggedness again. "… of that Raphael reproduction and … I remember an alarm going off and then darkness." His breath was now raspy and uneven.

"The Lost Heritage Exhibition, at the Met..." Suddenly she remembered. Neal wasn't allowed near the Met alone, but he had convinced her that seeing the reproductions of the paintings that were lost during the World Wars and stolen since then was much better than seeing them as prints in the case files.

There were only three more things to be moved from his back, as far as she could see, but his breath was worrying her. He was hurt worse than her.

"Neal?" His eyes were closed, and the wheezing sound coming from his mouth was giving her chills. She'd heard such sounds once before. "Neal?!" She pulled on his hand.

"What?" This time she barely heard him through the wheezing and rasp of his own voice.

"Don't get to sleep, and don't close your eyes. I'll get you out in a moment," she told him in her best ordering voice, fighting the sudden scratching in her throat to not to cough again.

"Uhuh." He nodded slightly.

"Good; now tell me where are you hurt, and no conning, Caffrey." She tried to smile, but the scratching won and she ended up gasping for breath and coughing herself.

"I'm not sure."

Pulling herself up using the wall and some other debris, she got to her legs; this time she felt a little bit better, sturdier on her legs than before. She took two more steps, paying attention to not step on Neal's head, and took a deep breath, preparing to move the lounge chair. She pulled it up and then when the legs cleared Neal she pushed it forward with both hands. It wasn't very heavy but the exercise taxed her; sweat was running into her eyes, her breath again came in short wheezing gasps, and her leg decided it had had enough. With one last push she cleared Neal's back, and collapsed again, trying to stop the dizziness.

"Diana, you don't sound so good yourself." He managed to stop coughing, but the wheezing sound was always there no matter if he talked or not.

Without opening her eyes, she patted him on the head, the closest part of his body, and murmured, "I'll be fine, just give me a moment."

They fell silent, Diana slowly calming her breath down; she felt a little bit better now, after sitting without movement. She could hear Caffrey's breath, the wheezing interrupted with coughing and gasps for breath.

"Diana?" His voice was almost a whisper.

"Yeah," she murmured back without opening her eyes. She was tired.

It took another moment of Neal's wheezing breathing before he spoke again. "I think I've been impaled with something."

That got her attention. When she opened her eyes, she couldn't see anything, just that Neal wasn't lying completely flat on the floor; his right side was slightly twisted up, his hand clutching to his side.

"Dammit, Neal," she murmured under her breath as she slowly slid on the floor towards his side, helping him to twist onto his back. And there it was, something that looked like a part of a chair, or rather part of a chair leg, protruding from his side. Now that everything was cleared she could see a pool of blood on the floor, marring his shirt and jacket, slowly dripping through his hand.

He smiled warily.

She growled, ignoring the headache that followed; she stared to get angry. "I told you not to lie to me." She took her own jacket off, and stripped out of her blouse, ignoring Neal's wide smile till he noticed she had a shirt underneath. Using the blouse as a bandage, she secured it to his side using Neal's tie, glad to see the blood stopping. It was best they could do.

"Where is everybody?" she wondered, calculating how to get them both up and out of the building.

Neal shrugged, then coughed and started wheezing again. "We were alone in this room when it happened. And I don't know how many more people were here; it was close to closing time so not many, I suppose."

She smiled, teasing him. "Perfect moment for a heist?"

"One of them, sure, but also it's the middle of the week and the exhibition has been here for a while and will be for another two weeks..." He coughed again; this time it took longer than before for him to catch his breath again.

"Come on, we need to get out of here. There should be some help coming soon." She managed to get on all fours again, and was slowly rising up, using the lounge she'd pushed away earlier as a crutch. She was halfway up when she heard a shot. Freezing, she looked at Neal; he had the same surprised look as her. Her own gun lay discarded on the floor with her jacket; a moment later it was pushed into her hand by a worried Neal.

Her head swam with dizziness; she wasn't sure she would be able to shoot effectively in the state she was in. But for now the most important thing was to help Neal get up, after maneuvering herself close to his side. Finally they stood together, leaning on one another in a delicate balance. Diana was breathing heavily, but Neal was wheezing again, his hand at his side, trying to breathe over the pain caused by moving. It didn't look too good.

"You ready?" she asked when she was ready and sure, or rather almost sure, that she would not fall on her face with the first step. She wrapped her arm around Neal's waist, careful not to jostle his wound, and when he moved, took a tentative step.

They had maybe six feet to go to the door, but when they finally got there she slumped on the door frame, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Neal by her side was quiet, too quiet, but at the same time his breath was coming in short wheezing gasps; he coughed and a drop of blood trickled on the side of his mouth. He cleaned it hastily with his sleeve, not even complaining about destroying his suit. If Neal wasn't complaining about the state of his wardrobe or even trying to joke about the situation, they were in trouble.

Somewhere in the building they heard another shot, and people, so there was someone alive besides them. Question was were they help or trouble?

A phone rang an inappropriately happy tune that got louder and louder with each second. "Di? Do you have your phone?" Neal asked, slowly patting himself with his free hand to find his own cell. It wasn't there. He looked at Diana, but she shook her head.

"I must have lost it somewhere. Wait here; I'll try to find the ringing one." Even with the still-busted leg, she moved faster alone than with him. The phone stopped ringing just as she found the owner; he was lying on his side, a bloody gash covering more than half of his face, stretching up to the back of his head. She checked his pulse but didn't find any. Closing the man's eyes, she quickly patted him, looking for the phone.

"Got it!" She raised the slim black device in triumph, but their luck was short lived. The screen was busted, and although the screen lit up when she pushed the home button, it was too damaged to dial out.

Scowling, she carefully looked around again; there were no other people in the room, or rather she couldn't see any. Truth to be told, it was getting darker than before, the air was still full of dust, the lights were out, and the only source of light were the windows; as time passed, they were getting covered with dust or ash too. They had to get out of there as soon as possible, still not knowing what happened and if there were in any danger, aside from bleeding to death in Neal's case.

Neal. He was too quiet.

"Neal?" she called, slowly turning towards the door frame where she'd left him. He was slumped even lower than before, but moved his head up a little when she called his name. Diana took a step back to get back to him, and slipped. She waved her arms trying to catch her balance, but she slipped on her hurt leg and the momentum brought her down; hitting her head, the world went dark.

WCWCWCWC

There was sound coming from somewhere, muffled, unclear. Someone was calling her. Someone worried, afraid.

"Di?" Cough. "Di, come on, don't do this to me." Wheeze.

The person calling her had trouble breathing; words were slurred and ragged.

"Charlie?" she whispered, slowly opening her eyes.

"Di?" It was too dark to see clearly, or maybe her eyes were not working properly. She knew it was a man that sat by her side, the dark hair and slender posture something she knew well. Charlie wasn't your classical bodyguard, bulky and huge like a quarterback; no, he was a swimmer, lean and agile.

"What happened?" She moved to sit and moaned in pain. "Ow." Her head was killing her.

"You slipped and hit your head." He had to stop talking to take a wheezing breath. "And you lost consciousness; scared the hell out of me." He sounded different than usual, but then when she spoke again she didn't sound like herself either.

"I'm okay." She squinted her eyes, trying to see better. "I think. Help me up."

Diana was confused, her head and leg hurt, and it was too dark to see anything. Where was she? Charlie was here, right?

"We need to do it together. I almost fainted trying to get to you by myself." He extended his right hand towards her, but she noticed that his left was wrapped around his torso like he was trying to keep a hurting side immobile.

"You're hurt." Ten points for observation skills.

"We're both hurt." They balanced slowly to stand up at the same time, but he started coughing and wheezing again as soon as they were upright.

"I think there is a way out two rooms from here, an emergency exit that will bring us to the south patio. And let's hope there are no non-friendlies on the way." He pulled her forward, and so they started a slow journey. Thankfully this room was almost empty, a few chairs here and there, a few of the paintings lying around, with most of them still hanging on the walls.

Her vision swam with every second step; when a wave of dizziness hit her she stopped, hardening her grip on her companion's arm. It seemed to be going quite well till they entered another room; it must have been a part of a gallery, a sculpture gallery. Most hadn't survived unaffected whatever had happened here. There were heads and hands and legs lying around the whole room, ash and dust from concrete thick on the floor; it was tricky to move. And they weren't alone, or rather someone had walked through here already. Footprints were clearly visible on the dusted floor.

Something moved in her peripheral vision; stilling, she slowly moved her head but there was nothing and no one there. "Did you see something?" Diana asked very quietly under her breath. When he looked at her she couldn't make out his expression, but it probably matched hers—worry, anxiety and pain all mixed into one. But also surprise and disbelieve. What had she seen?

What happened next happened way too fast for her to fully register. They were already halfway to the next door when she heard a squeak—probably an opening door that they hadn't noticed—and someone moving quickly. She reacted on instinct, using the momentum of their step forward and pushing both of them down. She thought she hear a shot.

In the heap of legs and arms, her knee hit something soft, causing him to grunt in pain, go rigid, and restrict her movements. She might have heard another two shots come close. But her own gun hit the floor and slid into darkness.

It took a moment, or two; she wasn't so sure about the time as she waited for her breath to come back and listened for trouble. She nudged Charlie, and when he didn't react, she quickly scrambled up. Without waiting for the dizziness to pass, she grabbed him by the arms and dragged as fast as she could towards the other door. There was no time now; he might be hit and she couldn't see anything in the room. Besides, she wasn't going to wait in the room with shots fired so close; it was asking for trouble. She stumbled on the threshold, quickly checked if the room was clear, and stopped for a breath. Dizziness was starting to win; her head swam and there was bile in her throat that simply had to go. Throwing up was painful; her head still bothered her but it did clear her throat a little. A slight breeze blew through the room. The doors to the patio that was their destination were broken and slightly open; she checked them out, opening them fully. There was more light outside, the last rays of sun still in the sky, and clear air to breathe.

After taking few deep breaths, she felt so much better that she almost forgot about her leg. The first step was a painful reminder, but they were so close to their target that she ignored it as much as possible. Charlie wasn't waking up. Grabbing him again, this time it went much faster than before to get him out onto the patio. Putting him down as flat as possible, Diana checked his side. There was blood seeping through the makeshift bandage. A lot of blood. Tears pooled in her eyes; she couldn't lose him, not now. Her hands were dirty when she pushed on the bloody wound on his side.

"Charlie?" she said through tears. She used her hands to try to put pressure on the wound, to block the blood loss. She pushed again, hoping for a little reaction from her friend.

"Charlie, come on..." She choked. The beating of his heart was less and less palpable. One of her hands slipped, causing her to fall into the pool of blood under his body. The liquid seeped through her pants. Pushing back up, Diana tried again. This time when she checked his pulse, the faint beating was going slower and slower. Her other hand was still on the wound, but she couldn't stop the bleeding.

"Charlie?" Her voice was lost in the slowly growing noise that she really didn't pay attention to. Soon there were footsteps, lots of footsteps on the ground. Diana curled her body, trying to shield Charlie from whatever danger was coming, her hand still on the wound.

Someone caught her around her middle and pulled back. She kicked and screamed, not wanting to leave Charlie alone. There was a dark-gray-clad arm across her stomach, and a gruff voice in her ear.

"Diana! Calm down... It's me, Jones..." She thrashed, pulling and pushing, trying to find leverage to get free.

"Charlie! No!" She pulled and tried to get free again, the sole of her shoe hitting her would-be rescuer in the shin. He cursed silently and his grip got stronger, keeping her more in place than before. Now she almost couldn't move.

"Diana! Calm down, we'll take care of him. It's all right... It's all right. Don't worry, we'll take good care of him." The voice tried to calm her down, but all she could see was Charlie left alone, blood still oozing from his wound, the wound she was trying so hard to keep pressure on.

"No...!" She screamed again, this time just going with the flow. She extended her hands, bloody palms facing forward, towards Charlie, who was being assessed by a medic, with man in a suit standing over him, asking questions.

She saw the small shake of their head when they put fingers to Charlie's throat and checked for a pulse.

"Charlie!" Her scream was high pitched, cutting through all the other noise….

WCWCWCWC

Waking up was a slow process; there were cotton balls around the world, white walls, beeping sounds, and light more bright that she ever remembered seeing. She blinked to clear the tears away and now everything started to get more clear. Jones was sitting on an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair, a colorful magazine in his hand. She must have made some sound, 'cause he raised his head and smiled.

"Hey. Welcome back, again." He spoke softly, just loud enough for her to not strain her ears.

"Hey. I…" There was dull pain in her head, but there was something else wrong. Charlie? No, that was impossible, Charlie had been dead for years. Neal. "What happened? How long was I out? What's wrong with me?"

Jones laughed softly. "One thing at a time, okay?"

She nodded, lying down comfortably.

"You have a grade three concussion, twisted ankle, and were out for the last two days. You got us really worried. Even more than Neal." He raised his hand to stop her from asking questions. "Especially when you called him Charlie and fought me really hard to get back to him." He moved the cuff of his shirt away to show her the traces her fingernails had left on his arm.

"Sorry, I—"

"No worries; you clearly didn't know what was happening at that moment. As for what happened, as far as we know—NYPD is handling the case—it was a robbery gone wrong. The plan was apparently to cause a gas leak and use the alarm to get everyone out, grab the pieces and leave before anyone got wise, but the gas exploded just a moment after the alarm went off. Most people got out unscathed, aside from two casualities, one shot robber and you two." He was eyeing her warily, waiting for her reaction.

She knitted her brows, stalling and thinking about another question. "How long did it take you to get to us? I totally lost track of time."

"A little less than an hour. As soon as we heard about the explosion, and checked Neal's tracker that still showed him inside, we rushed over. It would have taken less if there hadn't been that gas leak problem and lot of panicked people. And the entrance to the right wing wasn't totally blown up, which made NYFD strict about anyone getting in, till they checked everything out. Peter got much too worried and stormed to the patio entrance all by himself. Good thing that he did; Neal almost bled out."

"I … oh, it felt a lot longer; is he okay? Can I see him?" she asked urgently.

"He's in the ICU; a part of a chair leg caused a lot of damage, including collapsing his lung. He'll be out for a while. But I'll let Peter know you're awake; he wanted to talk to you too." He left with a small nod.

She smiled; Charlie might be long gone but his spirit was always with her, fighting for her life, just like he taught her. And apparently sending people like Peter to worry over her health. She could imagine the lecture about taking Neal to the Met already.

The End


End file.
